I hope this song helps
The title makes the theme pretty clear: I have buttloads of Social Anxiety, and it is a living Hell dealing with, ignoring, or confronting it on a daily, and sometimes, hourly basis. I have battled against it my whole memorable life, and I’ve had it up to here- *raises hand to tippy top of head* -with all the bullshit.
I had an amazing day today/yesterday, but all I can think about, all the thoughts I can conjure and obsess over are, “what if I fucked it up? What if the people I talked to and had coffee with in that wonderful, cozy cafe think I am too much, or even worse, can never bring themselves to understand who I am?”. It keeps running through my head, over and over and over again: “You messed it up man; you done fucked up. She won’t really want to be friends with you, let alone like who you are for you. You might as well become reclusive and quit before she leaves you like the rest do.” I always go too fast; come on too hard for people, and it blows up in my face. I’ve never gotten along with shallow people; and, though I admit I have hated them off and on, in the end, them and I just don’t mix well- and that leaves me with a very “shallow” pool of people to choose from: the damaged folk, who’re unable to give back in a friendship; the “I’m just like you, but live way the fuck far away” folk, who, for clear reasons, cannot be in the picture; and, lastly, and definitely least, the end. That’s it; there aren’t any more people.
The worst part is that I cannot make it alone: I really, really want to be able to do that, and I am VERY introverted- though pretend to be an Extrovert to please other people-, but I desperately wish for and desire a few close, understanding, and intimate friends; and, in the long run, a gf/wife. But, as I have for so long, I must wait. I am okay with that, I just wish today was the day; I just wish that this hour was the hour. But, that isn’t how the world or God works.
Thanks for getting this far- *waves to nobody- no one read this*. I hope your lives are at least a bit better than mine.
Appreciate those in your life who love you, and whom you love.
To die to sleep… to sleep… perchance to dream.
(Hamlet, act iii, scene iv)
You are the dream of a God; when you awake
will you return to the womb where you were born?
Will you then be what you were before?
Will your death be a new birth?
Is this dream absent during wakefulness?
Luckily here the mystery assists us;
as a remedy of our sad life
our fate remains an inviolable secret.
Let your future remain hidden under the fog
and walk calmly as you take your last step;
the less light there is, the more certain you can be.
Is our sunset the dawn of another world?
Dream on, my soul, in your obscure path:
” To die to sleep… to sleep… perchance to dream.”
The Immortality of the Crab (Inmortalidad del Cangrejo)*
The deepest problem:
of the immortality of the crab,
is that a soul it has,
a little soul in fact…
That if the crab dies
entirely in its totality
with it we all die
for all of eternity
* The title of the poem is based on the Spanish phrase pensar en la inmortalidad del gangrejo (thinking about the immortality of the crab), which means that someone is daydreaming, is lost in thought, is pondering. There’s a similar phrase in Portuguese: pensar na morte da bezerra.
To Destiny (Al Destino)
When I struggle, calmness overwhelms me
hiding your secrets from me, Destiny;
don’t let me falter in my path, because
without questioning I obey you blindly.
Don’t give me time to complain or beg;
spur me on without stopping,
and, like a sleepless pilgrim, let me
carry with me the fire from my hearth.
I want to win my peace through war;
I want to conquer the impossible dream;
don’t let me rest from trying to shed light
on the enigma within your heart,
and when I return to the bosom of the earth
let me deserve an ever-lasting peace.
Miguel De Unamuno is probably the most important Spanish philosopher, novelist and poet of the 20th century. His most famous works are: The Tragic Sense of Life (1912), Poesias (Poems – 1907), Our Lord Don Quixote (1914), Saint Emmanuel the Good, Martyr (1930), Aunt Tula (1921), Cancionero (Songbook – 1953, published after his death). He was born in Bilbao (1864) and died in Salamanca (1936).
If you’ve ever seen any of my previous posts on my chronic mental and emotional afflictions, then you must know this: that I am in pain; and, for most people- if not all- pain is something people hate. They most often turn to addiction or something essentially the same to hide or suppress their issue, whatever it may be.
I myself have had addiction issues before, and still struggle with an addiction to Pornography. That, and my depression and all around loneliness will be the topics I so boringly lay out before you all in this post today.
Since a very young age, I have been obsessed with finding a girl to love. I saw girls and women; bodies and minds, but did not know what they meant, or even what they were. Then, as I found porn, I discovered how beautiful they were; albeit from the most perverse and rotten possible method, I had indeed found beauty and loveliness incarnate.
For years and years; for whole seasons of my life, I learned the ways of people: how to smile and interpret faces; how to laugh for real, and a polite, tidy guffaw. But in the midst of all of these things, not once had I found love; nor, to an ever growing and ever expanding sense of dread and, indeed, sadness within me, had I found a companion.
In the Garden of Eden, where Adam, the first Man, Made by God Himself lived, he named the beasts and walked the earth; ate the fruit given to him, and breathed the air in content, forgoing one thing what he lacked: a companion. God saw that it was not right for Adam to be alone, and so, from Adam he made Eve; from Man, Woman; from first, second. To this effect, he gave Adam what he so desperately needed to live, and have joy in living.
I am worse than Adam: I am stuck with his Sin, and yet am alone; for in the depths of my heart lies only respect and love and artistic interest in girls and women, but I am restricted and by my own hand only reduced to viewing the abuse of beauty and the whoring of “love”, instead of finding its true form. I hate Porn. I HATE IT. It is total shit and has no place in the world.
Now, don’t get me wrong: I love the idea of sex- yep, I’m an adult virgin/the whole marriage thing in my other post was to hide my shame of never having had a family-, and I appreciate wholly nude art and the understanding of sexuality and the likeness, but Porn is none of those things: it is evil, it is vile; its tongue holds the interest and intent of lust alone, not love or caring or compromise. Its heart is of rape and violence; and beyond its outer coat of rightful desire, there lies alone, the craving of a madman and the marked depression of the lonely who roam the night.
I don’t even want someone to have sex with- not yet. All I want; all I have been dreaming of, is a girl to hold, and hold me back; a soft, warm being to be beside me; to speak to me, and kiss my nose. I want someone to watch movies with at the 11:00 pm showing, when usually I am all alone, sitting all cold and lonesome in the top section. I want another hand to squeeze and make myself calm by. I know what I want can never happen, and I am fully aware of how stupid it is for me to look after this foolish concept; I just wish it could be. A thousand stars to all of the wonderful, intelligent, curious women I know, who’ll never love me, let alone understand or have an interest in me.
I am the kind of man who is always in the friendzone; and, mostly, that is what I want. Women are my friend, and neither of us ever try anything. But, as time goes on, I find myself wishing there would come one who’d prove me a man.
So a lot has been going on in my life lately. I’ve dont what I always do to pick myself back up again but it hasent been working. I try sleeping away the pain. I try singing away the pain. I try painting away the pain. I try talking away the pain. Why now when I feel like I need to be happy more than ever can I not find any of it?! It sucks ighjjj
It’s taking a lot for me to write this. I’ve had so conjure up the will or energy to even post here again. I feel so hopeless right now. I just want to die already!
God it’s so hard. To think about the shit storm of pain I’ll leave behind. I hate myself for feeling like this. I think people would be sad for a while but at least they’d be able to move on finally and live their lives without having to worry about me or pay for my therapy or my school or anything . My mom could start to fix her marriage and my sisters could stop having to bother over whether I’m doing okay or not.
Things got pretty bad last year and my immediate family became aware of my mental health or lack there of and ever since then people have been fussing over me and have just forgotten about each other. That’s why I just need to go now… I need to stop being such a burden to people and bringing them down, I need to be dead and gone so that my sisters can feel like they are cared for too and not have me getting all the care and support all the time, I’m always getting in the way. It’s about He only thing I’m good for…
Time to say goodbye now
This month will be the four year anniversary of my father’s suicide. He shot himself in the head in his bedroom and I was the person to find his body. It took me awhile to tell anyone I didn’t know how to call my mom (she left to take my brother away for college that night) and tell her my older sister or my younger brother. It’s inexplicable to say the least. I just don’t know how to handle this time of year. And I hate the holidays so it kind of just rolls into it, my dad birthday is also in September. Any other suicide survivors like me on hear who have now become suicidal themselves?
Please, if you are considering self-harm or are currently self-harming, please quit.
Let me be an example, a warning to you all.
When I first started, it was a tiny little cut on my thigh, made merely to see how it’d feel- and I can’t lie, it was exhilarating to me. I was thirteen at the time and was enduring copious amounts of abuse from my parents, both physical and verbal, which had been occurring since childhood. It was a strain to my psyche and after that first cut, for once in my life, I felt like I was able to deal with all the pain that I was suffering.
If only I knew what I know now, if only I knew how much that first cut would destroy me.
I’d cut when I was sad, cut to punish myself, cut when I hated myself. In any time of distress, I would cut.
From that moment forward, it became everything I relied on; a coping mechanism that was there when I needed it and even when I didn’t. I carried razor blades to school, there were several occasions in which they were confiscated by the campus psychologist, as well as times my backpack needed to be checked.
Of course, with all this commotion, word eventually got out to my parents. On multiple occasions they were contacted but there will always be that one night that has stayed with me the most: my brothers and I all sitting at the dinner table as my mother yelled at me, her exact words being, “Why do you cut yourself? You should just kill yourself instead.” It was a painful experience, but I digress.
Self-mutilation became all that I knew. I had severe depression at the time, and whenever I felt particularly horrendous, I’d bleed out my feelings, spilling all the darkness that resided within me. It was at my lowest point, the winter of eighth grade, in which I was ready for my own death, that I was hospitalized. Sent to an institution to recover, to overcome my harmful thoughts and behaviors- only I didn’t.
Even in a psychiatric institution, I still found a method in which I could cut. When there’s a will, there’s a way, right? I remember after every meal, the staff would count all the plastic cutlery in order to make sure that no one had stolen one as it could later be transformed into a weapon of self-mutilation. Two other girls and I were secretly hurting ourselves and god, the day that one of them exposed herself as well as her friend for cutting, I was terrified, in fear of myself being revealed as well. They shared a room together, and so naturally, they were separated.
I watched as the orderlies stripped the girl’s bed, all the while investigating for any sharp objects that were hidden. I was safe that day as well as every day onward that I spent inside the hospital. The staff never found out about my self-harm.
Sometimes, I wish they did.
As I entered high school, the severity of my cuts only began to magnify, along with the numbers. The deeper it got, the more it worsened. I adopted the mindset (which I still posses) the deeper, the better. Thin, shallow cuts made me weak, made me fucking horrendous. I wasn’t good enough. I was only successful if I made it deep.
I also joined an online community in which users would post photo accounts of their self-harm. Being able to have access to and view the cuts of others pushed me to worsen my cuts as well. The general consensus: the deeper, the better. We are by no means a pro self-harm community, we do not encourage others to cut, but our fragile state of mind has made us vie for the lacerations that are deepest.
I made my account only to watch how my self-inflicted cuts transform over time, to watch as my cuts become deeper and bigger and the space of unmarked skin become more smaller. I didn’t make it for attention. I mean, it’s not as if I cut solely to upload to the internet. It’s never been that way and it never will be. When I feel bad and I cut, I simply photo document the lacerations so that I will have the opportunity to look back on it.
I have over a thousand followers on the account.
I am seventeen in two days. My worst cut was two months ago. I’ve cut on one occasion since then. It was awful, a bit traumatic if you ask me. Of course I’ve gone deep before, looking at my scarred body can prove that for a fact, but it was the first time I sliced into my skin that deep. The entire cut had hit the fat layer; it was a sight to see. I watched in a trance-like state as my blood left my body, in shock at the sheer size of the gaping laceration in my wrist.
It was only until I wiped away the blood that I noticed a dark blue vein inside. I didn’t puncture it, but god, how I wanted to.
So what’s the point of all this writing? As I stated earlier, let me be a warning to you, a precautionary tale. There was a time when I looked at others in shock, telling myself I’d never become like them, telling myself I could control the severity of my self-mutilation.
I was a fool to believe so.
I have destroyed myself in my attempts to cope with my difficulties. Hundreds, and I do mean hundreds, of scars litter my body. Since most of my cuts are deep, I have raised scars. They’re ugly to look at and turn a violent purple when I’m cold. There’s a patch on my wrist that is entirely scar tissue. My scars randomly hurt and ache in the worst way, sometimes for up to half an hour.
I do not take pride in my body or myself because it extremely difficult to find beauty in anything as mutilated and destroyed as I am.
My scars affect my day-to-day life along with my interactions with others. I have received nasty comments, rude stares, been made fun of, and asked invasive questions. It isn’t what I want to live with but now it’s what I’m stuck with.
In addition, finding the strength not to hurt myself is a tough challenge. After becoming so acclimated to resorting to slicing my skin open with anything negative that I encounter, dealing with my issues safe and positively is hard. It’s especially exhausting when I’m stuck in a pit of self-despise for ruining my body, which makes me desire cutting as a form of punishment but is entirely counterintuitive as it was the problem that arose in the first place.
Cutting isn’t anything beautiful and it certainly anything that you want to adopt. It will ruin you.
So please, if you’ve made it this far, consider all that I’ve told you. Consider my experiences and who I am now. Understand that it is not how you want to live.
Please, if you are cutting or considering cutting, please don’t.
In high school, I’d cut everyday. It started when I was 14. I had no where to go, no one to talk to. I’d do it in the school bathrooms before school, just go all out. I’d wait for the bleeding to stop, put some folded up toilet paper over my entire forearm, use hair ties to keep it from moving, pull down my sleeve and go through my day. It’s all I could think about, and when I got home, I’d do it again. This went on for several years. Then, I met someone. Someone who got me to start eating again and stop cutting…for a while..I went without for almost 2 years, but then, the urge became too overwhelming. I’ve relapsed, and honestly, it makes me feel better. Even though it’s for a few moments at a time, at least I fucking feel something.
I’m so tired. Tired of feeling like a burden. Tired of thinking “I bet my parents wish they never had me. I’m the embarrassment of my whole family.” Exhausted from acting like I’m staying strong so my fiancé won’t worry as much. We all die in the end, so what is the point anyway? “to have fun, to love and be loved, to experience the world in and of itself and behold it’s beauty and nature” blah blah blah, it’s bullshit. We live to work in order to keep living which is mostly spent working and sleeping. From the beginning, my life has been shit. I wish I could just end it. I wish I could make all of my bad memories and thoughts go away, but I’m too afraid that there’s nothing was after we die and that there is no peace. I’m tired of being afraid of people, of living, of dying, of the pain I’ve been existing with for years, I’m tired of everything, and most of all, I’m tired of being tired.
i’ve been suicidal since i was 14, maybe 13, but my memory before my first attempt is blurry. i’m almost eighteen now.
i didn’t intend on making it this far, at all. i didn’t intend on living this long – ever getting a job – making it to my senior year of HS.
but, if you’re like me. it’s probably important to remember something my friend said to me.
“you shouldn’t deem yourself a failure whenever you fall down again, you’re still going, you’re still strong. Your illnesses aren’t you. You’re you; and that’s what matters.”
just a little more, okay?
So like, I was wondering about posting as much 1-3 posts, and then maybe taking a big break for a while… I might come around to comment and stuff, but yeah. :p
With that said though, here is my first one with general ideas on things that might help you feel at ease a bit more. 🙂
(Solfeggio (Hz), Lofi, Classical, Hipster/Indie, etc.)
Sometimes I like to listen to really relaxing music, from anything like the solfeggio (hz) stuff which I heard 432 hz is really helpful, to lofi, to even… one 1 hour indie music track even on youtube. XD I think I got it from Life is Strange, but then just decided to go with this one called Wishlight. :p
I also like the Gymnopedies a lot for classical, those are really nice… Japan seems to like that a lot for some reason, and Chopin. :p
It’s in Mother 3 and the Haruhi Suzumiya movie (The Disappearance of Haruhi Suzumiya), and there’s a whole game about Chopin with a rather odd game known as Eternal Sonata. :p
Anyways, moving on though…
2. Anti-Depressant Foods?
I looked up a search engine on foods that supposedly help with your mood and those that hurt it and in general it’s pretty standard stuff for things that are healthy an those that aren’t. :p
One weird thing though is… dark chocolate vs. white chocolate. o.O So if you’re ever in the mood for some sweets, you should try some dark chocolate. :O
3. Afterlife Theory
A long time ago, even though I’m Atheist for various personal reasons, I thought of something weird…
What if the Conservation of Energy/Mass Theory can be applied to souls? 😕 Like, I think it’s something about matter can’t be created or destroyed but only changed… like with water. :p
Maybe we become like that, with the whole ectoplasm thing…? Idk. :p
Just an interesting idea I had…
I hope these ideas help. :p
(Length: 5m 20s)
So, in part thanks to Agnostic Angel, though I’ve gotten into it before hand and like it a lot myself already, I decided to post this video here on a coping technique the game talked about that might help. 🙂
Basically, if you’re ever having a panic attack, just close your eyes and take deep breaths… imagine a feather floating in the air… your inhales and exhales make it rise and fall, symbolizing your steady breathing.
I hope that helps. 🙂
It’s a really cute and fun looking game, but I think it might be one of those games you have to buy on Steam… I need to know how to do that kind of thing and make an account. 🙁
Some moments are really heartwarming though, I love all the chapter end title cards and when they bake that strawberry pie based on the strawberries you get. 🙂
It’s really sweet. <3 Um, literally, LOL. XD Because it’s a cute, heartwarming moment involving pie… get it? :p Yeahhhh… XD
Well, I mean, the whole game is sweet, but that part made for a funny pun. :p
Sometimes I just feel down and sometimes I feel as if im being held down by something so big I cant breathe It casts a shadow over me I cant quite tell how big but its big enough to cover my mind its so dark I struggle to smile people think they know but there just as lost as me they offer advice but it passes by my head like a breeze not a small breeze its like the breathe of the shadow it inhales and I feel blank then it exhales and still nothing happens im at a stand still but I don’t know where to go its like being hungry but not knowing what to eat because there is so much to choose from but suddenly all the food is gone and there’s nothing there and your still wondering why its so hollow, I just want some comfort but there’s no warmth there’s no cold its just a humid breeze you know its there and it doesn’t feel right my life just feels wrong like I’m out of place like a missing cog in a clock but something has taken the whole clock, I don’t mean to be pessimistic but I am I don’t belong he but, that’s fine…
there you go
ruining everything again
without even trying to
how pathetic are you?
you want to die,
and it’s so rightfully justified
because you’re mediocre at best
no matter how hard you try
you could eat healthier
erase your past
you could do everything he wants
but who says that will make love last?
you’ve made mistakes
most were accidental
you can try blaming it on
being a millennial
but not all of us
are fuck ups like you
“consistency is key”
the only thing you’re consistent at
is ruining everything for me
you’re the one that won’t let you be happy
you know just how to make him hate you
you wonder why he ripped your
pictures off the wall
it’s because he can’t stand looking at you
more than he already has to
there’s no need to wonder
because he literally told you
you have a book in your heart and mind
listing every reason he hates you
it’s synonymous to why you need to die
you find a new reason every day
it’s a surprise you still manage to try
i guess you really want to redeem yourself
you really want to make him love you
you still have hope
you try not to cry
but you just can’t cope
you still think about cutting
the only reason you don’t do it
is because he will hate you even more
if that’s possible
everyday objects around you
turn into potential ways
you could end it
i heard you wondering
if the weight bench could break your neck
i saw you looking for bleach
under the bathroom sink
i was there when you couldn’t find it
so you sat there with your own hands
around your neck
but you stopped because you didn’t
want his son to see you unconscious
and that couldn’t have killed you anyway
you’re smarter than that
i heard you hoping that the procedure
you didn’t want in the first place
would end your life
you wanted to be among the few
that the procedure would kill
i saw you eyeing the ceiling fan
wondering if it could hold your weight
i’m here to say that it can’t
and before your sensitive ass gets sad,
it’s not because you’re fat.
it just wasn’t made to carry the weight
of a human with a perfectly
healthy body that you hate
and want to abuse and throw away.
i saw you holding the kitchen knife
thinking about dragging
it across your tattoo
then i saw you throw it across the room
it might have been just because you didn’t
want to hurt chibi but i’m still proud of you
because you have another arm
that would’ve worked just fine
i think that moment was a sign
a sign of control or maybe a sign
that you just don’t want to give him
another reason to leave
either way you have to believe
that you can keep fighting the urge
you’ll die one day anyway
hopefully soon but probably not
let life kill you slowly
don’t be mad that you wake up
from your slumber
be happy you got through the day
and are now one day closer to your death
and if that’s all you can be happy about
celebrate that shit
everyday you live you are one day closer
to crossing the finish line
where you can sleep and never wake up
that’s all that you want
Even though we cant talk to each other directly here. I feel safe here. I feel in the silence, a comradery.
I love reading the stuggles the goodbyes because i can relate so much to these entries and i just have nothing but love for you.
Even if you are a judge of me, i can relate and I’m grateful. Whatever comes… I’m just grateful for this silent hive where our honey is our words about our bloody battles of life, death, trauma, pain more than anyone else in the real world could ever handle. We can speak it here in complete truth and honesty without fear.
I’m choosing to document my suicidality here, as old as i am, rather than writing in composite notebooks and burning them.
A lot good those notebooks did for the last 17yrs. What if like, the things I’ve read here, by putting it out to dry here…maybe it can give someone some light maybe some peace? Egotistical…
Today i chose to buy some recreational drugs and write my best friend a letter listing my red flags. Basically fucking myself over and dampening my exit options. I analyze though, the fact ive always known is admitting that i dont truly want to die. I’m not that committed to my goodbye anymore. (Which intensity fucking shifts and changes of course, you can relate I’m sure) i just want to pain to end. I want to be loved and happy before i die. I want the nightmares to stop. The phantom pain in my vagina to stop preventing me from dating. I want justice that i know i wont get so then i want to forgive but how? I refuse to go to a fucking counselor god they’re fucking useless pieces of shit or sociopaths.
I just want the darkness to end. Maybe i will finally have to try again when the Universe guides me to in order to end it. I dont fucking know. Today i chose to live. Might be out of a job calling in so much lately but fuck it. I chose to live today hopefully it means something good for something in some dimension..
I told my only family member it was time for me to stop. The only person in the world who knew me. He said at least try acid once.
I dosed and became one with the Universe and all that shit. I felt something fall off my shoulders afterwards. I got an understanding of why I survived the first eleven years of my life along with him surviving the first twenty.
-We weren’t meant to survive right?
I got a hippy ass perspective on why there’s scars on my genitals that I can’t explain to a doctor.
It lasted about a month until I was drugged and raped in a sad and rather fishy situation with a boy I was dating and his “best friend”.
I had a beautiful goddamn pharmacy, shame it was time after i stumbled home the next morning to use it for ending my life rather than healing.
I filled a large chevron drink about halfway or so with it all.
-The Universe was telling me it was time right?
Why else would i get raped again in my adult life? No justice again. I just wanted to go home. Then you broke the door down because the cats, my little girls, were crying and yowling. I wake up screaming in the middle of the rape kit. Then they checked me in the looney ward for a week. I had to participate in groups and put on a face that I understood that ending my life was not an option so i could leave and get high at least i was good at that.
You fucking told me you couldn’t do this life without me. Then barely three months after my failure you get to go home, during a celebration you got to leave me here, happy.
Without the weight of the possibilities of right and wrong. You got “taken”. Now i have to be here with this alone. Completely, actually, “literally” alone.
-Its gotta be a cosmic sign right? Cant think cant work cant fake it just hoping the universe shows me what way will actually work/succeed. Just want to go to sleep and go home.
2nd year anniversaries are so surreal.
I dont know if it would honor you or offend you if I chose to enter light body that day. I already failed once in a way I shouldnt have failed because of your bad timing. Then you died.
This is a sign I should go with you, I feel sometimes. You said you couldn’t do this life without me, what the fuck do you expect me to do here without you.
Drugs sure help. Maybe they’ll have pity/mercy on me the way they did for you and take care of the dilemma I face daily
I´m just a broken human being, some freaky joke of mother nature. Sadly, my IQ is like between 130 and 150 which always makes me overthink every little aspect of reality to the point that I feel I´m going out of my mind.
When I was a child (last time I experienced true happiness) I was always looking on other people from above because they looked just so dumb to me. I still carry some leftovers of this attitude and that may be the reason why noone actually likes me. Nowdays I just look on ordinary stupid people living their happy lifes in ignorance like sheep and I just envy them so much.
School is the worst thing that has happend to me so far in my life. I get bullied in school by teachers because I have a problem with respecting authorities and also because I pass exams (that other students have to work hard on for several hours) with no efford what so ever and if there is one thing that teachers can´t stand it´s exactly that. A lazy ************ that´s not paying attention in school, not learning at home and still is doing just fine. Teachers often force me to do extra stuff or just ridecule me in front of the class.
I also get bullied by my classmates (guys). They can feel my insecurities and use them to boost their own social status. (girls can sniff out my insecurities too, even more in fact, but they have no interest in bullying me so they just ignore me insted) To give you an example it looks something like this: A guy walks up to my desk and yells out loud so everyone (especially all the girls) can hear it: “Haha you will stay a virgin for the rest of your life, i bet you will die alone, depressed and a drug addict.” And I´m just there staring at him unable to do anything. I´m not small or weak and I could probably beat his ass up but violence was just never my thing. When I try to respond and insult him back he yells loud something like: “look how unstaple and agressive he is, everybody better stay away from this guy.”
I´m almost 19 years old virgin. In fact I´ve never even kissed, hugged or held hands with any girl. I would say
I´m actually quite good looking (like 8 or 9/10) but that´s no use since as a male no matter how good I look I always gotta make the first move and I simply lack the confidence to do that. Girls prefer dominant guys like the ones that bully me, it´s just a part of their nature. Dont get me wrong tho, I dont wanna sound like the guys that just blame all women for their failed sexual life. The problem lies in my mind not in the outside world.
I was on a “date” once in my life. I ´ve met a girl that didn´t know anything about me before so I thought that´s my chance. She was clearly physically attracted to me so I went on a date with her but I was acting so cringy it just hurted me inside. It was the most painful hour of my life in fact. The worst part was that I could feel how my awkwardness makes her feel uncomfortable and tortures her. I was shaking, or I just froze completly unable to hold her hand or say anything. I could clearly see the relief in her face as I was saying goodbye to her and I knew I would never see her again. After that, the same evening I just drank myself into unconsciousness.
I´ve tried countless substances (legal and illegal) to medicate myself from my depresion. The one that resonated with me the most is cannabis. I smoke about 2-3 grams of weed per day, I just get high right after I come back from school and then I mostly play video games, watch youtube or do other useless stuff. If it wasnt for weed tho, I would probably just lie in my bed despising myself and contemplating suicide all day. (like I do in school) I know this offers only temporary escape but since I´m determined to kill myself one day escape is all I need right now. I can´t lie and I always tell the truth (I hate that about myself) so everyone knows I´m an addict and that boosts the stigma arond me even more. People just dont want to have anyhing with me. They stay away.
You may wonder why I still havent killed myself to this day. The reason is my two little sisters. They are too young to deal with such serious thing as a suicide of a close family member and I could never do that to them. I´m just looking forward to some day (perhaps when I will be like 30 or so) when my sisters will be old enaugh and have their own families and I will finally be free to leave this world. In fact this thought is like a light at the end of a tunnel for me.